


Debauchery

by MaryStuarts (morganadepoitiers)



Category: Reign (TV)
Genre: Angst, Half-Sibling Incest, M/M, Oops, PWP, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-23
Packaged: 2018-01-21 21:15:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1564340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morganadepoitiers/pseuds/MaryStuarts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You have always belonged to me, little brother. Not to our father, nor to your De Medici mother, nor to Mary - but to me. You are mine, Francis. You always have been. You always will be. Forget any notions you may have to the contrary."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Debauchery

He knew this was sick. He knew it was wrong in every possible, conceivable way, but it felt so right. It surely went against every natural and man-made law, to kiss your little brother. _(Half_ brother.) Especially when you were both male, and one of you was engaged. To a queen, no less.

He should never have told Francis the truth. He should never have confessed that his pursuit of Mary was not out of any genuine desire for her, but out of jealousy. Out of spite. Out of _you're supposed to be mine, little brother. No one else is supposed to have you._ A part of him had never even realized it until recently. He'd even had himself fooled, all this time, thinking he wanted her, when really he was trying to distract himself from what he really wanted. Because even the love of a queen seemed more possible than what he truly craved. Except it turned out, what he wanted wasn't out of his reach at all. Just the opposite, in fact.

"If I had only known you wanted me too," Francis told him between pants as they kissed, "we could have been doing this for ages. I've wanted you for so long, brother," Francis said breathlessly, taking Bash's hands and putting them on his body. "I've wanted you to have me like this."

"Stop," Bash said, the word coming out as a growl. He squeezed his eyes shut and bit down on the inside of his cheek in a desperate bid to control himself. He pulled his hands away from Francis' hips, where Francis had brought them, and tried to sit up. This had already gone too far. He shouldn't allow this. He shouldn't indulge himself in this. He should never have told Francis how he felt, should never have brought him to his chambers, should never have let him sit down on the bed, to kiss him like he was kissing him. This wasn't supposed to happen, and they had gone too far, and Francis couldn't _possibly_ realize what he was doing. "You don't want to do this."

"But I do," Francis said, trying to pull him back into another kiss. "I _have_. I've thought about it. How only you can give me what I really want."

"Francis," Bash said warningly. "Stop it. Stop saying things like that."

"But it's true."

"You don't understand what you're doing to me."

"But I know what I want _you_ to be doing to _me_ ," Francis said. "And now I know you want it to."

Bash clenched his fists and steeled himself, turning away when Francis crawled into his lap and held his face in his hands.

"Just tell me," Francis said in his ear. "Have you ever thought about me at night? Or when you were with somebody else?" Bash's grip on the bedspread tightened. "Because I have, about you. I once ordered a guard to touch me, because he was about your stature, and his hands about your size," Francis' hands moved to cover Bash's when he said this, "and I just wanted to know what it would feel like if you touched me -"

Bash lost it there. His resolve snapped and with a growl he pushed Francis back onto the bed and was on top of him, devouring his mouth with a kiss, and he could feel Francis' teeth; he was grinning because he was getting what he wanted. But he didn't know what he was asking for.

"I warned you," Bash said darkly as he pulled Francis by the hair to nip at his neck. "I warned you, Francis, so don't blame me for what I'll do."

"Yes, finally," Francis sighed with contentment when Bash's hands sought under his shirt. As punishment Bash found his nipples and pinched them, and Francis' hands tightened in Bash's hair. "Go ahead. Do your worst. I want it, Bash. _I want it."_

Bash groaned and bit down on Francis' neck, harder this time, like an animal devouring its prey, and Francis moaned and tossed his head back. 

"So, tell me about this guard," Bash said darkly as he pulled his shirt off and tossed it aside, and helped Francis with his own. He set upon covering Francis' shoulders with bites. "What exactly did you tell him to do?"

"I ordered him into my chambers, and then kissed him," Francis' breath hitched when Bash nipped at his collarbone. "And when he began kissing me back, I told him he can touch me. I thought he'd only grab my waist, but he took a lot of liberties with his hands..."

Bash stopped what he was doing to look up at Francis and glower at him.

"Do I need to find him and cut his hands off?"

Francis laughed and ruffled Bash's hair as if he were a silly child.

"Why would I have you do that?"

"It seems a fitting punishment, don't you think? The price of touching something that doesn't belong to you."

"And to whom _do_ I belong, then?" Francis asked teasingly.

Bash snatched Francis' wrists and pinned them over his head, lowering his face so it was inches above his.

"Me," he growled. "You have always belonged to me, little brother. Not to our father, nor to your De Medici mother, nor to Mary - but to _me._ You are mine, Francis. You always have been. You always will be. Forget any notions you may have to the contrary."

"You're lucky I find this craziness to be a turn on," Francis said, and arched his back to wrap his legs around Bash's waist.

Francis wrenched his hands out of Bash's grip to pull him down into a kiss, and forced his tongue into Bash's mouth, which earned him a low groan that went straight to his cock. Francis grinded his hips against Bash's, and felt his hardness against his own. Bash reached a hand between them and cupped Francis over his breeches, lightly squeezing. Francis moaned and rutted his hips, desperately seeking friction. Bash pushed him down onto the bed and undid the laces of his breeches, while Francis worked to undo his.

"Tell me," Bash said against Francis' ear while he gripped Francis' length. "Did that guard touch you like this?"

"No," Francis said, writhing beneath him, his voice desperate with his sincerity. "He didn't, I swear it."

"Would you have wanted him to?" Bash asked. "Would you have liked it?"

"I would've," Francis said, threading his hands through Bash's hair and looking him in the eyes. "But I would've pretended it was you."

Still a bit annoyed, Bash said, "Of course you would've liked it, you wanton thing."

Francis moaned at that, and was surprised with himself. He'd no idea he'd enjoy being spoken to like that, but it seemed he did. Bash looked surprised as well and caught on quickly.

"You like this? When I speak to you for what you are?" Bash said low against his ear, watching Francis' face for his reaction, making sure he wasn't about to go too far or cross a line. "Not as the Dauphin or the golden boy of France...but a wanton, lustful creature, who wants his brother to fuck him?"

"Bash," Francis gasped then, arching his back. _"Please."_

Unfortunately for him, Bash could never deny a request from his brother.

He scrambled to reach for the oil he'd left over the drawer beside the bed, and slicked it over his fingers. Francis watched him do it with curiosity. Surely he must know what must be done in preparation?, Bash thought. But Francis' eyes widened with surprise when Bash spread apart his legs and reached beneath them to prod Francis' entrance and coat it with oil. Francis tensed then, and went stiff beneath him, the playful look gone from his face.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Bash said, noting his expression. "Just relax. I was only teasing you before. I wouldn't do anything that would hurt you. Unless you asked me to."

Francis' discomfort only lasted for a few moments when Bash slipped his fingers inside, and then his face lit up with pleasure that made his whole body vibrate.

"What was _that?"_ Francis said.

"What makes this fun," Bash said, and hit that spot again, and again, and soon Francis was grunting and rocking himself against Bash's fingers, all thoughts of the pain forgotten. Bash's eyes darkened as he watched him, and he would've liked to watch this all day, and perhaps he could another time, but they needed to do this all the way. He removed his fingers and Francis made a noise of disappointment that made Bash chuckle.

"Just wait," Bash said before applying the oil to his own cock, and suddenly Francis didn't look disappointed anymore. 

"I'm going to make sure you understand completely who you belong to," Bash said, and kissed him on the lips as he pushed himself inside.

Francis cried out in pleasure and wrapped his arms around Bash's neck, melding themselves together completely as Bash slammed into him. Bash grunted and pulled Francis' legs around his waist, driving into him deeper, their breath mingling together as the headboard of the bed rocked in time with their heartbeats. Francis was making sounds of pleasure to the rhythm of each thrust, and Bash grunted against his neck in turn, feeling like he was coming apart.

Francis was clawing at him, biting him, nails scraping down his back and teeth digging into his shoulder as Bash plowed into him, filling him up and hitting that place inside him that made his toes curl into the sheets with each thrust. "I - _nn_ \- understand," Francis said between breaths, his hands slipping down Bash's back before finding purchase with his nails. "I - _hunh_ \- belong to you. And you to me."

"Glad we've come to an agreement."

"N- no one else can give me this," Francis said, arching his neck to give Bash room to lick at the trail of sweat dripping down it. At Francis' words, Bash's thrusts grew harder and faster. "No one else can. Only you, Bash. Only you can make me feel this good."

"Francis," Bash groaned.

"Not Mary, not some guard, no one but you," Francis said, and his words cut off with a shuddering breath when Bash reached between them and began stroking his cock to each thrust. "Bash _. Bash._ I'm gonna -"

"I know," he said, and they both came at once. Francis' world seemed to shatter apart in a white hot blast, feeling like his whole body was coming apart in a way he'd never felt before, his toes curling against Bash's leg. Bash's breath went ragged, the world diminished to nothing but Francis, the heat of him, the tightness of him, the smell of musk coming off his skin, the damp golden curls splayed out against the pillow and the way his mouth opened but couldn't form words and his pupils blew wide when he came.

Bash collapsed on top of him and lay still listening to the rabbit quick beat of Francis' heart racing in his chest beneath his skin. He absently traced patterns on Francis' belly while he came down from his high and waited for the blood to stop roaring in his ears.

"Needless to say, this is now at the top of our list of things we must never tell father about."

Bash's whole body shook with laughter as he raised his head to look at him.

"Another in a long line of secrets," said Bash.

Francis' lips were bruised with kisses, and his face was flushed and damp. He looked utterly debauched, and Bash shivered when he realized he did this to him. It gave him a strange feeling of power. Then he immediately felt guilty about it. It was a power he should never use again.

"This can never happen again, of course," Bash said, and prepared for the argument that would surely follow.

But Francis, surprisingly, did not look concerned.

"Oh, it will," Francis said with certainty. "I'll make certain of it."

"Francis," Bash sighed, dragging a hand across his face with exasperation.

Francis grabbed his hand and pulled it away from his face so he could look him in the eyes.

"Come on now, brother. Now I know for certain, there is nothing I can request of you that you will not do for me," Francis said, looking pleased with himself for making this discovery. "You can't resist me at all. You're powerless."

"Is that what you think?" Bash said, trying to sound annoyed, when really he feared it was true. It _was_ true. If Francis came to him and asked him for anything, he'd do it. Even if it meant getting into bed with him again. _Especially_ if it meant getting into bed with him again. Even if he tried to resist, Francis would play dirty. He knew he would. He was relentless. He wouldn't rest until he got what he wanted. And he knew exactly what he'd have to do to get it. Bash was both ashamed and relieved at this.

"We both know it's true," Francis said, and kissed him chastely on the lips before getting under the covers. "Goodnight, brother. Sweet dreams."

Bash sighed, feeling utterly defeated, and pulled the blankets up over Francis' shoulders. Bash himself did not get under the covers - even though it was his own bed. He did not trust himself to stay in this room with him. If Francis was eventually going to break down his resolve, Bash could at least try not make it so bloody easy for him. He crept out of the room and down the hall and found a nice, cold, hard window alcove to lay in, where he could properly punish himself and say the lord's prayer at _least_ two hundred million times to repent for this debauchery.

 


	2. Misery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some angst. Basically.

Bash had never given Francis enough credit for his ability to lie. Everybody knew Bash couldn't lie. Nobody could ever expect him to hide his true feelings about something, or not speak his mind, or manage to ruin one of father's boring meetings by making a sarcastic remark. Francis, on the other hand, was always perfectly diplomatic and detached at all times, never letting his true thoughts or emotions trip him up. But Bash had never fully realized it until he bore the brunt of it himself.  
He'd half expected Francis to resort to childish tactics and sneak up on Bash and pull him into corners to kiss him, and anytime Francis rounded a corner or entered a room, Bash would steel himself and prepare to practically shove Francis away, if he needed to. But Francis never made any attempts to get his attention. If they made eye contact Francis would smile like he always would, like everything was normal, and go back to speaking to whoever he had been speaking to.   
For a few days, Bash was relieved and disappointed.

He shouldn't have been.

"Evening, brother," Francis said a few days after the incident Bash refused to allow himself to think about, but still did think about, particularly when lying in bed late at night. "Father wants to speak with us right away."  
Bash put down the sword he'd been polishing and waited a few moments. He waited until Francis was halfway down the corridor before getting up and following him, determined to keep a wide distance between them.   
The king was entertaining foreign guests in the throne room, some duke or lord from somewhere or other. By the time Bash entered the room, Francis was already charming everyone.

"Ah, Bash!" Henry said, beckoning to his eldest son. "Come meet Charles Douglas, sixth Duke of Tourraine, and his sister Cecilia."

"How do you do," Bash said politely, attempting to sound friendly and engaged but not quite managing it. The woman Cecilia reached to shake Bash's hand but he couldn't quite look at her; Francis' laughter at something the duke was saying was quite distracting. 

 

There was an elaborate dinner party that night, with tons of performers and entertainers brought in at the last moment to delight Henry's guests, and the hall filled with dozens of people Bash already knew and then some he didn't. They were mostly interested in the food and gossip, all except for Charles Douglas, who seemed to only have eyes for Mary and Francis, and was regaling them with some tale or other.

Bash's heart wrenched at seeing the two of them together, but he forced himself to look, and not look away. They would be married eventually. He would have to get used to seeing them together. That was how it was going to be for the rest of all of their lives. Mary looked beautiful as always, but then so did Francis. His hair looked especially gold in the lights of the party, and his smile was genuine. Or at least realistic enough to be genuine. You could never really tell.

 

Yes, Mary and Francis truly did look good together, Bash had to admit.

But not as beautiful as he looked in my bed, Bash thought darkly, and then immediately forced himself to not think of that. 

He finally looked away, realizing that people might notice him glaring across the room at the Dauphin. He forced himself to look at some beautiful women for a few minutes, and pretend to be captivated by them. But when his eyes instinctively flitted back to the place where Francis had been standing, he realized he was gone, and so was the duke.

 

Francis still felt it was strange to be touched by men. Especially men older and larger than himself. He was used to smaller hands, politer hands, clasping around his neck or touching his face. Being roughly seized by the wrist and dragged behind a tapestry in a dark corner was very unfamiliar, as was being shoved into the wall and held there and having his neck kissed by a face that had whiskers. The sensation of it made him laugh, which made the other man shush him - as politely as you could shush a Crown Prince of France.

"Your grace," said the duke. "We must be quiet lest someone hear us. If your father were to catch us..."

"He'd probably just ask if you like older men as well and invite you to his own chambers," Francis said. "You're probably safe."

The duke blinked, looking perplexed.

'Well, still, perhaps we should take this somewhere else...somewhere more private...perhaps, my chambers?" the duke suggested.

Francis was tempted for a moment. Charles wasn't too old, probably no more than thirty, and was quite handsome, in a bookish sort of way. For a moment he was indecisive, looking to the duke's eager face to the hall outside of the alcove. Then he kissed Charles, and the older man greedily kissed him back, his hands bunching the fabric of Francis' shirt as he backed him into the wall. Francis inhaled sharply when the man tongued at his ear; he'd no idea the scholarly man had it in him for such lechery. It was always the quiet ones, Francis supposed as the man bit the shell of his ear and whispered something that would've made Henry blush. 

"Is that so," Francis managed to say in response, before the tapestry was wrenched aside and a shadow came over them, and Francis looked up to see none other than Bash standing there. 

Duke Charles jumped away from Francis as if he was on fire and tucked his hands behind his back, as if that could undo the fact that he'd touched him with them. 

"We weren't - it isn't -" the duke stammered looking to Francis for help, who didn't look too surprised. 

"Leave," Bash said harshly, and his withering glare left no room for argument. The duke stepped around Bash, bowed to Francis hastily and muttered "your grace" before hurrying off down the hall, possibly to make funeral arrangements.

"Evening, Bash," Francis said casually as Bash stepped inside the alcove and pulled the tapestry shut behind them.

"What the hell are you playing at, Francis?" Bash snapped. "The Duke of Tourraine?"

"Is there a problem?"

"You know full well there is," Bash said. "The man's a lecher. Everybody in France knows that."

"Well, I certainly know that now. He is quite descriptive in detailing his...objectives."

"Are you planning on throwing yourself at every male who comes through the castle and seems like they might be into young men?" Bash demanded.

"Of course not, Bash. I'm not stupid." 

"You're acting like it."

Francis smiled and looked like he was trying not to laugh.

"What? What is it, Francis? I'm not in the mood for games."

"We both know why you're truly mad," Francis said. 

"And why is that?" Bash said, despite his better judgment.

"Because someone has touched something that doesn't belong to them."

"Damn you, Francis," Bash said before kissing him, and when Francis pushed against him and kissed him back, he realized this had been his plan all along. He indulged himself for a moment, dragging his fingers through Francis' hair and kissing him like nothing else mattered, but after a minute he could ignore his reservations no longer and pushed Francis back. "How do you expect this to continue?"

"Like this," Francis said and moved to kiss him again, but Bash turned away, though it pained him.

"You're my little brother."

"I'm not quite so little anymore, if you hadn't noticed."  
"And the next king of France. And engaged."

"For the time being."

"What do you mean, for the time being?"

"Mary wishes to return to Scotland. As soon as she finds a better match, she'll be leaving again."

"And then you'll be married off to someone else."

"Yes. Someday. But what does that matter?" Francis said. "What does that have to do with us right now? The present is all that matters. What is the point of worrying about what will someday be?"

"Because, Francis, I'm not going to start something with you that will have to eventually end." 

"Everything eventually ends. Even life itself. Even the world. I could die tomorrow."

"We both know you are not going to die tomorrow. And there is still the fact that you are my brother, and this is wrong."

"How could it be wrong, if it feels right?"

"Most things that are wrong feel right while you're doing them," Bash said.

He looked at Francis' hopeful face and sighed. He'd never wanted to want Francis like this. It had just been something that came up on him within the last two years and then progressed like a disease. Perhaps if they'd been raised together, as proper brothers, things could've been normal between them, and Bash would never have developed these sinful feelings for him, but having been brought up in Paris by his own mother, apart from Francis, it was like part of him didn't realize he was his younger brother. His brain knew, of course, but his heart and the rest of him didn't receive the message. It was miraculous God didn't strike him dead, and he could set foot in church without bursting into flames. He'd wanted to ease his burden about this by going to confession, but the poor priest had probably never even heard of anything so wrong. 

The only reason he'd told Francis the truth about his feelings was because he couldn't stand Francis to hate him for the wrong reasons. If Francis was going to hate him, it needed to be for the truth. But he hadn't counted on Francis wanting him too. He hadn't worked it into the plan. 

Francis would just never understand. He could never see the risks and dangers, only hopeful outcomes. 

"The only reason you want this is because you can't have it," Bash said.

"That isn't true."

"You always want things you can't have. And then you do everything in your power to get them, and once you do get them, you get bored."

"No, I don't," Francis said, reaching for Bash's hands.

"Well, I do," Bash said suddenly, which made Francis' hands freeze. "I get bored with things. I don't...want this anymore, Francis. I wasn't sure how to tell you, but -"

"Now you're just lying."

"I am not. The other night was...an experience, to say the least, but once was enough. I think we've both satisfied our curiosities about each other. You can go back to Mary, and I'll go back to...hunting."

Francis dropped his hands and stepped back, staring at him to tell if he was serious. Bash looked away, but not quick enough to see the hurt on Francis' face. Bash didn't dare look at him again, he'd end up doing something stupid to ruin it like kissing him senseless. But somebody had to end this, and it had to be him, and this was the only way. 

Francis said something Bash didn't hear, because his pulse was pounding in his ears. Whatever he said it was probably something polite and diplomatic, because he gave him that blasted fakely genuine smile before he left, slipping out into the hall and returning to the party. He danced with Mary all night. Bash knew because he watched - ducking out of sight whenever Francis looked his way. Then Bash saw him leaving the duke of Tourraine and his stomach twisted so horribly he almost blew everything by running over to stop him from going, and causing a scene and possibly a civil war by breaking the duke's fingers. Seeing Francis with another man was somehow worse than seeing him with Mary, now that he knew what Francis wanted, and that he was getting what he wanted from someone else. Someone other than him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for all the angst but it had to be done and this won't be the end. I also apologize for any errors as this was done on mobile. I've found I quite like writing for this ship and will probably continue to do so in the future.


	3. Jealousy

It seemed like everywhere Bash turned the next couple of days, there was Francis with Charles. Nobody else seemed to notice this except for him. Why didn't anybody else notice? Wasn't it disgustingly obvious how the duke's eyes never left him, how he followed him out of rooms, and leaned too closely when speaking? Henry had invited them all to have dinner with him, and the entire time Henry was talking to the duke's sister Cecilia, Charles' mouth was at Francis' ear whispering something. When his hand came to rest on Francis' knee, Bash almost snapped the stem of his goblet while he was drinking it.  
  
"Sebastian, are you well?" Cecilia asked, looking over at him suddenly. "You look pale."  
  
Everyone turned to look at him, including Francis. It was the first time he'd looked at him in days. He'd been avoiding him at all costs ever since that last conversation. He hadn't even bothered to give him fake smiles on the rare occasion that they ran into each other. He'd only look away and pretend he wasn't there. Bash wanted to feel hurt but he knew he was the one who hurt Francis first. But he had to. It was for the best. Didn't he see that?  
  
"Yes, I'm fine, thank you," Bash said, clearing his throat. He forced himself to look at Francis. "Are you alright?"  
  
"I beg your pardon?" Francis looked up when he realized Bash was addressing him.  
  
"I said, are you alright?"  
  
"Why wouldn't I be alright?" Francis said, laying on the fake charm and smiling because other people were watching, but his voice had a warning to it that only Bash could detect.  
  
"Just wondering. I just heard that Charles here was _sick_ ," Bash said. "And that you've been spending time with him."  
  
"I'm not sick," Charles said obliviously. "I'm completely healthy."  
  
"Ah, my mistake," Bash said. "Must've had you confused with someone else."  
  
Nobody knew what was happening but everyone sensed the discomfort. Henry cleared his throat and changed the subject by loudly discussing his plans for England. Bash looked down into his goblet as he drank from it, but he could feel Francis' eyes glaring at him from across the table. This was not what he wanted to happen at all. Now he was just pushing Francis further away. He wanted to apologize, but he couldn't in front of everyone, and Francis was going to avoid him immediately after dinner so he wouldn't get a chance to.  
  
The moment passed, and everybody lapsed back into their conversations, except for Bash who was straining to hear what Charles was saying to Francis. He had his hand on the small of Francis' back now, and Bash nearly spit out his drink and looked around to see if anybody else had noticed. What was wrong with this man? Was he out of his mind? Did he really have no common sense, or was it that he had no respect? Henry was sitting not ten feet away.  
  
This time, though, Francis shrugged off Charles' hand and pushed it away, looking sheepish. Francis looked up and saw Bash staring. He held his gaze for a second before looking away again.

 

  
  
Bash liked to think he had his jealousy mostly under control until he ran into Charles outside of Francis' chambers.  
  
He'd been going there to apologize for the uncomfortable conversation at dinner, and to try to patch things up with Francis, or as well as you can possibly patch things up with your little brother who you had sex with and then cast aside to avoid future heartbreak. It was the dead of night, which he preferred because there wouldn't be anyone around who could possibly eavesdrop. Which was why there was no excuse for Charles to be coming out of Francis' room looking disheveled and pleased with himself. Bash stopped in his tracks, although the duke didn't see him right away as he was adjusting his collar. He hadn't even bothered to make himself look presentable before leaving. It was like he didn't care that people might see him and associate him with Francis in an unorthodox way. Bash had never wanted to punch somebody more in his entire life.  
  
"Oh, hello Sebastian," he said.  
  
Bash ignored him and walked past him, heading towards Francis' door and resisting the urge to say something.  
  
"If you're looking to speak to Francis, I'd wait til morning," the duke called to him. "I'm afraid he's asleep."  
  
Bash turned around and looked at him.  
  
"Really?" Bash said dryly. "And yet you've just left his room. Why is that?"  
  
The duke gave him a look one would offer a child.  
  
"Sebastian, I don't need to explain this to you, do I?"  
  
Bash hoped the man didn't notice his hand tightening into a fist. He was suddenly angry at everyone - angry at the duke for being a smug, detestable lecher, angry at himself for feeling the way he did, and angry at Francis for deigning to put up with this man's company, and falling asleep in his presence. How could he be so stupid? Why would he allow himself to sleep with a strange man in the room? He could've been an assassin. Bash was so angry he almost turned around and left. He had actually started rewriting his apology inside his head and made it into an angry rant, and as he knocked on Francis' door, he balled his fists and prepared to scold him - that is until Francis opened the door looking tired and confused.  
  
"Yes, what is it?" he said, straining to sound authoritative despite being half asleep. Then he realized it was Bash and dropped the act. "What do you want?"  
  
I want you, he thought sullenly.  
  
"I was going to apologize," Bash said. "For earlier. But considering I just saw the duke leave your room, I don't think I'm that sorry."  
  
"What does it matter? It's none of your business."  
  
"He said you were sleeping. You fell asleep with him?"  
  
"This discussion is over," Francis announced and began to shut the door until Bash pushed it back open and stood in the way.  
  
"You need to be more careful," Bash said. "The man has a reputation, and you know next to nothing about him. If you're going to keep doing this, you could at least try not to be so foolish about it. What if he hadwanted to kill you?"  
  
"Do you really believe me to be so stupid? I wasn't asleep. I was pretending to be," Francis said. "And if he wanted to kill me, he's had plenty of opportunities the last few days,"  
  
Well, that hurt. Bash got what he came for. He got the salt in the wound he was obviously looking for, because why else would he have gotten into this conversation. He needed more fuel to torture himself with, and there it was.

But the torture wasn't over, because when Francis turned his head to look out into the hall, Bash could see by the dim light that there was a bruise on his neck beneath the collar of his shirt - a love bite, he realized immediately - and something powerful and ugly twisted inside of him.

"Great. That's wonderful," Bash snapped and stormed off down the hall.  
  
When he rounded the corner to go back to his own chambers, he found Charles lurking in the corridor nearby. He was gazing out a window and therefore didn't see Bash when he crept up behind him and shoved him into the wall.  
  
"Keep your hands off my brother," he said between gritted teeth. "Or I'll keep them off for you," Bash said, and seized the man's hand and bent back his fingers until he cried out in pain and sank to his knees on the floor.  
  
Bash took off down the hall, satisfied with what he'd done, until the duke called after him again.  
  
"I see now," the duke said, sounding a bit winded, but laughing.  
  
"You see nothing," Bash said. "And you'll say nothing. Unless I need to break your teeth as well."

"Could it be that you're...jealous?" the duke said, pretending to sound appalled, but it was clear he was amused. "That's a bit disturbing, Sebastian. Or shall I call you Bash? Would it be alright if I called you Bash?"

He probably wouldn't be satisfied until he gutted this man with a knife, but he couldn't murder a duke. He really should stop killing people altogether. It was probably why he had such terrible luck. It was bad karma.  
  
"No."  
  
"Don't you want to know how I know that you're called Bash?"  
  
"Because you're a sneaking little worm who listens in on people's conversations? I really couldn't care less."  
  
"Really?" Charles said, beginning to stand now, flexing the fingers Bash had assaulted. "You don't care that Francis says your name in the throes of passion?"  
  
Bash's entire body went hot, and then ice cold when he realized what this ultimately meant. Charles knew that this wasn't one sided. He knew there was something more to it.  
  
"Unless there's someone else named Bash here at court, but it's not a very common nickname," Charles went on. "Which brings me to some very interesting conclusions."  
  
"Say anything you want about me," Bash snarled as he seized him by the lapels of his coat. "But leave my brother's name out of it."  
  
"I'm not going to say anything to anyone," Charles said. "I just want to get in on any fun that's being had."  
  
"There is no fun," Bash said. "Not any longer."  
  
"That's a shame," Charles said. "But I guess that leaves Francis all to me, doesn't it? Looks like I won't need to share after all."  
  
"I don't know what part of _'keep your hands off my brother'_ you don't understand-"  
  
"The part where you think you can order me around, for one," Charles said. "And what you did to my hand was quite rude, as well. I am a duke, if you don't remember. And what are you? The king's bastard? The older brother of the dauphin, who harbors unhealthy feelings for him? Yes, you can see how this puts you at a bit of a disadvantage."  
  
Bash turned away and clenched his fists, torn with indecision. There was so much warring inside him, he could hardly think of what he wanted to do. Should he hit the man again? To make his point clear? But what if he went and started running his mouth about Francis? Should he just leave him alone then? To do what he wanted with Francis? To leave marks on his brother's skin, and recklessly touch him in front of people? He couldn't think about this right now. He was too tired, too angry, too conflicted. He settled for hitting the duke with his shoulder as he shoved past him, making his way back to his room before he could get into any more trouble.

 

Once in the quiet dark of his own room, he threw himself onto his bed and closed his eyes, but he could only see horrible flashes of images of Francis and Charles together.  
  
Bash had had the pleasure of discovering how sensitive Francis' neck was that one night, but it seemed Charles had found out at as well, and he hated that. Nobody should know that except for him. Francis was his. He'd always be his. No one would ever love him or want him like he did. The pleasure of biting his neck should be his alone to give. Every breath and every sigh should belong to Bash.

He couldn't bear this at all.

But what was that the duke had said? "Francis says your name in the throes of passion."  Francis says his name.  _His_ name, Bash. So Francis knew too. Francis knew he was his and no one else's. Knew it should be him leaving marks on his neck. When he was with Charles, Francis was thinking about him.

He didn't want to think about Francis in "the throes of passion" with the duke, but he did want to think about Francis saying his name. Francis saying his name, just for him. Like he had that one night. He wanted to think about Francis saying his name again and again and his nails tearing down his back as he held onto him, arching his back to muffle his cries against Bash's shoulder, and the way his toes curled against his leg when he came, because Francis was _his,_ all his, always his. Bash was coming before he'd even fully realized he'd been jerking himself off, and then laid panting in bed, left with a vicious hole gaping in his chest, filled with unbearable longing that he couldn't satiate.

He couldn't live like this. Surely losing Francis in the future wouldn't hurt as badly as only having him once, and then never again? What good was this doing either of them? But then there was Charles. Bash couldn't so much as touch Francis, if he thought Charles might see. The man wasn't to be trusted. When was his tedious visit going to end? Bash had half a mind to put an end to it himself. He tried to think of a way to get rid of him instead of focusing on how acutely he wished Francis was sleeping beside him, and that Francis would only ever fall asleep with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So again not much smut in this chapter, besides a bit of fantasizing. Just mostly angst. But I think I get more and more perverted with each passing day and I need Jesus, so there will probably be smut again soon. Because I think that's what we all collectively come to this site for. Or is that just me? No no, it's definitely not just me. Okay enough rambling, thanks for reading~ :)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading this shamelessness. (◡‿◡✿) Perhaps with some encouragement I'll continue it. I most likely will anyway. ´▽` )ﾉ


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